4
Clover
Adrian rolled up to the arena at ten in the morning, a good three hours later than the athlete preferred to work out.
He claimed the delay was so he could give me a proper tour of the rink with the lights on, the team practicing, and the construction crew finally opening the new wings.
But I could see through it.
Cute that he tried, though.
He hauled his equipment bag from his Land Rover—a vehicle he specifically bought for the word Sport emblazed on the invoice. Adrian wasn’t a complicated man which made it all the more amusing that he tried to hide the truth from me.
“So…” I adjusted the collar on his black polo shirt and resisted the urge to button him up. He had a hard-enough time fitting into shirts without choking him to death before practice. My hands lingered a moment too long over his hardened, muscle-stacked chest. “What did the doctor say?”
Adrian attempted to conceal his frustration behind a slick-as-ice smile.
“What doctor?”
“Spare me. You’re late to the team’s second day of unofficial workouts because you had an errand to run.”
I searched his expression for the first crack. He did better than usual, hiding the truth behind a confused shrug.
“Since when do you run errands?” I asked.
“I’m a busy man. I’ve got shit to do.”
“I don’t think lying qualifies as an errand.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Only because you didn’t answer the question.” I tossed him a heavy paper bag from our favorite breakfast joint. “Keep your secrets. I’m not interested.”
“Now who’s lying?”
Definitely me.
If the man had gone to a doctor, it meant he was considering my proposition.
And that made my morning all the sweeter.
He rifled through the bag. “What’d you bring me?”
“Breakfast.” Though I wasn’t sure how he’d be able to skate after eating it. “Low carb tortilla, four eggs, heavy on the cheese, double vegetables, with ham, not bacon.”
“Hot sauce?”
“A little bottle of Sriracha is in the bag.”
“You do spoil me.”
That was the plan. “You know what they say. The way to a man’s sperm is through his breakfast burrito.”
“Just as long as the sperm isn’t in the burrito.”
“Wasn’t offered on the menu, but I can’t vouch for their mayo.”
He ripped the foil away with his teeth and took a satisfied bite. I followed him toward the arena, my stomach bumbling like I’d stuffed the breakfast down my throat.
I’d acquired a tremendous reserve of patience in my career—flight delays, screaming children, screaming businessmen—but my tolerance waned when both of my feet were on solid ground. I glanced at Adrian.
“So…how are your testicles?” I asked.
One of the world’s most graceful athletes nearly stumbled over his own feet. “Retracted…thanks to that question.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Was until we started this conversation.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He tensed, and the little wrinkle between his eyebrows returned. Gave him a distinguished, agitated look. “I told you—everything is fine. I just had to introduce myself to the new doctors here.”
“And?”
“And what?”
I hopped the curb in front of the arena and stood before him. The extra inches helped brought me to his chin’s level, though I was still dwarfed by the two-story, frosted blue glass façade that welcomed Ironfield into the newest, most technological and architecturally advanced arena in the league. The sun glinted against the windows, and the reflection of the city skyline welcomed those who approached the main gates.
But Adrian led me around the building, searching for a player’s entrance not yet cordoned off by scaffolding and yellow tape.
“Come on, Adrian, it’s me,” I said. “You can tell me anything—how the doctor’s visit went, what your breakfast order is, how the sausage and eggs are frying in your pants today…”
“Do you know anything about the male anatomy?”
I grinned. “I hope to learn a lot more soon.”
“It was a mistake inviting you to the arena. You better behave if I’m giving you a tour.”
“What are they gonna do? Kick you out?”
“Worse…” Adrian guided me through the maintenance tunnel to the main entrance wing of the rink. “They might ask you to stay.”
The Maxwell Intimates Hockey Arena was a state-of-the-art monstrosity of a project, so new the crews were still hanging bright blue-and-white Forge banners, cramming vendors and their stoves into the food courts, and finishing the last stripes of paint leading fans to their ticketed sections.
And, after following Adrian across the country for his away games, I could definitively say I enjoyed the arena far more than the concrete labyrinths other teams called home.
This place had a certain class that seemed…out of sorts for a town like Ironfield. Elegant restaurants and suites had claimed the ground floor of the arena, no doubt enjoying new clientele from the high-roller casino next door. A few shopping outlets had set up inside too—the usual sports apparel shops now featuring the frosty blue merchandise of the Forge—but also some rather exquisite lingerie shops.
“We’re calling it The Panty Drawer.” Adrian snickered. “The guys say Cameron Mitchell—the so-called billionaire Panty King—wanted to build a world-class lingerie shop in the city. But, while he was at it, he added an ice rink above it.”
“Too bad you don’t have cheerleaders—would make for a great fashion show,” I said.
“Hockey doesn’t need cheerleaders. It has fights.”
“True. Nothing like watching two unbearably handsome men beat themselves black and blue.”
Adrian guided me over an uneven patch of unfinished flooring. His hand swallowed mine, and the heat tickled from my palm all the way up my arm, through my chest, and down to the curious swirl in my tummy.
“Am I one of those guys?” he asked.
“No, you never fight. I should get a refund on my jersey.”
“I meant…am I one of those unbearably handsome men?”
He knew the answer to that. I hadn’t found another man in this world with Adrian’s dark eyes, stubborn nose, or straight-edged jaw. And I’d looked. Hard. In every conceivable corner of the world. Adrian was it. Handsome. Strong. Fierce.
And, because of that, he every other guy frustratingly dull.
“You’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.” I grinned as I stroked his ego. “Wanna have a baby?”
“Should’ve known you’d never answer seriously.”
I’d never lied to him. Problem was, I usually toyed with him so much he never knew which way was up or when we’d finally go down. Seemed easier that way. Less complicated. It was hard enough realizing no one else could ever measure up to my best friend, but revealing it to Adrian?